I don’t know who I’m supposed to be.  Who me is.  Or even if there is a me anymore.  Other than those I live with my existence is invalid.  I am a ghost amongst the living.

I know what I am;  mother, wife, daughter.  Yet not who I am or even if I’m anyone at all.

Anyone can be something.  It’s a label.  Yet how can you be someone?

Once upon a time I could talk about myself. I was vivid and animated.  I could tell you about my name, age, my hobbies, my likes and dislikes, my friends, the places I go, the things I do, the books I read, the music I listen to, the things I watch. 

Once upon a time I could tell you my hopes and my dreams.

I have two names yet both feel alien to me.  People have names.  I feel too empty to be a person.  I don’t need a name anymore.  There’s nobody to use it.

I can’t remember the last time I read a book or played a CD. Once books and music were as vital as blood to me.

I watch two things on TV yet probably couldn’t tell you much about either.

I can’t afford clothes and pregnancy aside I’m so overweight nothing would fit anyway.  I live in two pairs of jeans. Only one of these fit.

It’s my birthday next month.  There’s nothing I want.  Nothing affordable anyway.  When you’re nothing, you need nothing.  Even if I was given twenty pounds I wouldn’t know what to buy. I’d spend it on the baby.  She is someone.  She’ll need stuff.  There’s stuff she’ll like.

I neither go anywhere nor do anything and the only person to chat about my empty days with is myself.  Only she’s not interested.  In me. She’s not interested in anything.

I have no likes it dislikes.  No style.  No presence.

I just … am.

I can’t talk about myself as there is nothing to say.

I can’t describe myself because there’s nobody inside.

And I’m scared.

And I’m lonely.

And maybe I’m not here at all.

Maybe I never was.

What if the me I remembered died.  And nobody told me.

That would explain a lot.

You can only fade so much until you disappear.

I can’t see myself anymore.

They say when you stop dreaming it’s time to die.

What if they didn’t mean literally? Physically?

What if they meant inside?

I think I’m dead.

I think I died a long time ago.

I can’t climb out of me.

Because there is no me. 

I’m disappearing.

And I’m terrified.


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